


The Trouble With Public Toilets

by burglarhobbit (kazosah)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, John is a Saint, Kid Fic, M/M, Parentlock, Sherlock is a Good Parent, mentions of Clara and Harry, mentions of Irene, mentions of Mum and Dad Watson, mentions of Mycroft's sour expressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazosah/pseuds/burglarhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was nearing Christmas and all they had to do was get on a train to Oxford, visit his parents (and sister) and get it over with, but no, it couldn't be that simple, could it? Not for John. A headstrong, prideful, troublesome toddler made sure of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Public Toilets

 

* * *

Paddington Station was the setting of the fond memory that would stick in their minds for years to come. They had to take the train to Oxford to see Granny Jean and Grandad Harold before they went off to Florida for Christmas - it was treat to themselves that was well deserved. Harry and Clara would be there, and so would the Holmes three.

  
Seeing Jean and Harold wasn't the trivial part, not at all. All the times before had been under different circumstances, but vastly simpler than what this day had brought them.

  
It was 7 in the morning; already far earlier than Sigrid usually woke, having a lazy tendency like her father when not particularly interested or invested in anything the waking world offered her. So with that, it was no small wonder when she needed to wee while they had 30 minutes before they departed.

  
Paddington was always bustling with people, but even worse were the toilets, (but thanks to the hour, they were graced with less need to hurry and worry). Not only was it a frankly insane 30p to get in to the toilets but See had grown quite proud in her right as a woman - her words - to go to the toilet all on her own. Without daddy or father's aid. She was undoubtedly a Holmes when she'd upturn her face, chin held high in that snooty way she was accustomed to, with little lips simultaneously pouted and pursed in conviction.

  
Neither John nor Sherlock dared question her pride or abilities.

  
John pressed the coins amounted to 30 pence into the slot and urged her to step through the turnstile - which the top of her head just barely reached the upper most bar. That look on her face they had deemed 'The Mycroft' - something between a cat who could not be bothered and a rancid taste in the mouth - was firmly in place as she pushed, practically strutted, through.

  
"That's _your_ daughter," John sighed when she disappeared from sight and down the steps.

  
Sherlock smirked, hooking his arm with John's, "She's _ours_ , John."

  
[It had taken Sherlock some time to get used to this - this idea of being a parent, caring for an offspring, and loving them. Caring and love was a huge disadvantage, he knew that quite well - the very prime example being the woman who had carried Sigrid, _the_ woman - but the day See had uttered her first word after hours of Sherlock putting books and texts in her chubby hands, proving that she was something of worth if she could repeat after him, could retain information and use it (though she was only 6 months old and had only just become strong enough to sit up on her own) he decided she wasn't so bad.

  
After a while, expanding her vocabulary - because John wasn't all that pleased with See's first word being a muddled "decomposition" - Sherlock begrudgingly admitted he was starting to like her.

  
It was the moment he'd sprung forward to gather her away from a shattered Petri dish instead of diving for the potential evidence encased in said dish Sigrid had nudged until it tipped off the table top when he knew that like had evolved into love. He cared for the well being of this tiny human that was half of his DNA. He found it peculiar and astounding. A long month of tests stemmed from his new found concern for his daughter, gathering data about what sort of situations roused what kind of emotions from him. John was glad Sherlock was finally a participating parent, though he wasn't too thrilled about the tests. Even less so when results and information were shared at the end of his long work days at the hospital. But he listened nonetheless, keeping the joy in the forefront of his mind, which was easy to do when Sigrid, sat on his lap, was smiling widely with big sparkling blue eyes at Sherlock.

  
Time progressed and Sherlock and Sigrid's relationship never strained. Sherlock was most proud when she'd learn something new and boast and brag with this silly expression on her face that John said she'd absolutely inherited from him.]

  
Now they stood outside the Paddington Station toilets, waiting for their four years old daughter to reemerge with a content bladder.

  
The toilets didn't have a heavy flow of commuters going to and fro, nor was there an attendant stationed; so when they heard a distressed whine echo up from the stairs, they knew it was her. Especially so when the sound was followed up with a long call of, "DAAADDYYY!!"

  
"Oh god," John murmured, unhooking his arm from Sherlock's to listen closer.

  
Sigrid continued on, loud and desperate, "Daddy! I need help! I need you to wipe me!"

  
"Oh, Jesus," he sighed and slipped 30p into the turnstiles again to gain admittance just to stand near the stairs to call down, "Darling, you have to do it on your own! I can't go down there!"

  
"Why not?!"

  
"It's not for gents, I'm not a lady, I can't go in there!"

  
"But Daddy!"

  
"See, darling, you're a big girl, just do it!"

  
"Daddy, I can't!"

  
"Oh, for god's sake," Sherlock grumbled and hopped the turnstiles and descended the steps into the women's toilet in a whirl of Belstaff coattails.

  
John choked on an attempt to call Sherlock back, it was too late anyway.

  
A minute later Sherlock emerged, ascending the stairs with Sigrid in his arms, both of them leveling John with an unimpressed look. He sighed, closing his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose, then smoothed his palm over his creased brow. "Come on, we've got 20 minutes," he mumbled wearily.

  
He wished he could hope it would get better from then, but he still had an hour and a half train ride with his husband and child who couldn't sit still for more than five minutes unless properly entertained. Then there was Harry, and Mum and Dad, and Sherlock, and Sigrid, and all of them together all at once. John was to face hell and his only solace would be in the form of his sister's timid wife Clara, who would get a huge startled laugh out of his story about the toilets at Paddington Station.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was spur of the moment written during my 15 minute breaks at work today and inspired by the women around my cubicle talking about their little ones and what sort of mischief and mishaps have happened during the tender ages of 3 - 5. And my memory of Paddington (or was it London-Victoria... SHIT! I can't fucking remember!) is super murky, all I know is I was outraged to have to pay to pee. 30p to PEE! In a public toilet. I just. Don't. Understand. If someone could explain it that would be cool. But moving on!
> 
> Sigrid (See - grid) is of Old Norse origin and means 'beautiful victory'. I would suppose John had a hand at picking out the name; something sophisticated that would work well with the Holmes lineage; like Sherlock and Mycroft. And Sigrid is from Sherlock and Irene, so she's all the best and worst parts of the worst and best kind of people - hellish in attitude but so painfully adorable and beautiful.
> 
> Also, I think John's parents would totally be the silly/awesome kind that would name their children with names like theirs: Jean - John, Harold - Harriet. It's FUN. I would do it too if my name wasn't so weird!
> 
> Done talking! Thanks for viewing!


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